


after a perpetual darkness

by dashwoods



Category: The Worst Witch (TV 2017), The Worst Witch - All Media Types
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-14
Updated: 2018-03-14
Packaged: 2019-03-31 10:30:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13973166
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dashwoods/pseuds/dashwoods
Summary: She finds she can’t stay away. Pippa Pentangle, head of Miss Pentangle’s Academy for Witches, simply cannot stop visiting Cackle’s.





	after a perpetual darkness

_What was it like to be loved in return? Asked Joy.  
_ _It was like being seen after a perpetual darkness, I replied. To be heard after a lifetime of silence._

_\- Lang Leav_

 

She finds she can’t stay away. Pippa Pentangle, head of Miss Pentangle’s Academy for Witches, simply cannot stop visiting Cackle’s. She finds excuses, says she wants to look at their gardens, see how they’ve arranged their herbs. She tells Miss Drill that she’s been asked to look at new flying techniques from around the country, to bring back to her students. She has tea with Ada Cackle, to discuss the business of running a school. And with every visit, she makes sure that she runs into Hecate Hardbroom.

Now that they’ve reconciled, now that she can think of the other woman without tears forming in her eyes or anger curling in her stomach, Pippa simply doesn’t want to go for long stretches of time without seeing the other woman. They were inseparable, once, blonde hair and black, bobbing along through the hallways together, arms linked, Hecate always a bit uncomfortable with the contact, but amenable enough.

It’s unrealistic to imagine they’ll ever be joined at the hip again, not with all the years and experience between them, but she is willing enough to admit to herself that she is not anxious to be without her friend again, not now that they’re finally able to talk again.

So she gets clippings from the garden, makes a bouquet of flowers, meanders back up to the castle, knocks on Hecate’s door. If she’s surprised to see her standing there, Pippa will never know, as her face is implacable, only a slight pause before she opens the door a bit wider, allowing Pippa in, as any indication that this moment wasn’t anticipated.

She hands Hecate the flowers. “I thought of you,” is all she says, and it’s true. The blooms are dark, deep red roses and navy-colored violets. Hecate looks a bit pained as she accepts the bouquet, holding it in her arms as though it might explode.

“Thank you,” she says, her voice a bit stilted, her posture stiff. Pippa smiles, bright and beaming, and Hecate looks like she needs to shield herself from the sun.

“I just wanted to say a quick hello,” she says, because she doesn’t want to say that she just wanted to see Hecate’s face, to be in her presence, if only for a moment, doesn’t think Hecate would respond well to it. She can imagine the startled look, perhaps a sneer, stealing across Hecate’s features if she were to be so open, so bold, so emotive, and Pippa doesn’t know if she can take being rebuffed, not just yet.

Hecate nods, looks at the roses in her hands, looks back up at Pippa, the smallest of smiles playing around her lips, and it’s enough, feels like enough. “Hello,” she says, her voice sharp and pointed, like it always is, but there’s the tiniest hint of warmth to it as well, and Pippa can’t help but revel in it. She doesn’t stay longer after that, not one to force her company on others, not willing to make Hecate live through idle small talk. But as she turns to leave, she sees Hecate touch the petals of the flowers so delicately, her long nails just caressing the plant, her gaze softer than Pippa thinks she’s ever seen it, certainly softer than she’s seen it in years.

-

There is something unsettling, Hecate has decided, in allowing Pippa back into her life. Pippa, Pipsqueak, the person who knew her best in the world, the person she trusted most, the person she - no, it’s best not to think of things like that, not now, not anymore. But it is good, on the whole, to have Pippa back. She can feel the...pinkness flowing through her life, lighting up the dark corners, bringing life back to dusty nooks that Hecate had forgotten existed.

Pippa comes to Cackle’s often. More often than is probably quite necessary, Hecate thinks, but can’t find fault with any of her reasoning, wouldn’t question her motives, is just grateful to have the sparing glimpses she’s allowed, when Pippa stops by before she leaves, or waves on her way to an appointment with one of the other instructors.

It’s better this way, it’s good. It isn’t too much, she won’t embarrass herself again, won’t open herself up to whispers and rumors. She can nod curtly in Pippa’s direction, and feel the warmth of her answering smile for the remainder of the day, and it is enough. No forced conversations, nothing strained, no mentions of missed broomstick displays or cutting, vitriolic words.

There’s a part of Hecate that is fearful, a part of her that she thinks will always be there. When she sees Pippa, head bowed, talking to Mildred, she wonders if Pippa is telling embarrassing stories of her from their schooldays. When she hears her laugh ring out, mingling with Ada’s, she wonders if they’re mocking her. It isn’t _comfortable_ , having someone who knows her this well around all of a sudden.

Yes, Ada knows her, and knows her well. Ada is her best friend, her comrade in arms, her trusted mentor, but Ada never knew her as a child, never saw her awkward, gangly phase, never sat with her while she bit her lip, pretending not to hear the taunts being thrown her way. Ada knows Hecate Hardbroom and Pippa knows Hiccup, and it’s as simple as that.

“Do they not provide sustenance at your academy?” Hecate asks archly, when she sees that Pippa has stayed for dinner. Pippa just smiles, settles into the chair next to Hecate, her pink robes clashing horrible with the red velvet of the chairs.

“You’ll have to come and see some day, won’t you?” she says prettily, and Hecate freezes, poleaxed, knows she must look something like a goldfish as she searches for the words to say, to find the perfect riposte with which to volley back.

It’s true, she’s never been to Pentangle’s, and she doesn’t know if she could bear it, a castle positively _dripping_ with Pippa. She imagines it as warm, homey, welcoming, everything she sees in the other woman, everything she feels when Pippa smiles at her. But she clenches her fork in her fist and arranges her mouth into a tight smile. “Perhaps,” she says, before shoveling a mouthful of potato between her lips and is saved from having to speak any further.

Pippa’s gaze lingers, and Hecate can feel it, like a butterfly has just landed in her hair and she can’t quite brush it away. She forces herself not to look up, not to meet those eyes, tells herself she can do without the smile, without that warmth, that she’s had her fill for the time being and she can’t get used to relying on this sort of thing.

-

The next time she sees Hecate, they argue. They’ve never been able to help it, not really, both stubborn, both competitive, both always wanting to be the best, neither able to cede any ground.

“You’re just as you always are, Hecate,” Pippa fumes, her voice coming out low and angry.

“Then this should be expected, Miss Pentangle,” Hecate responds, her tone controlled, her pitch even, the use of her title landing like a barb on her heart, and it infuriates Pippa all the more. Hecate always manages to stay calm and collected, while Pippa wants to stamp her feet and yell and scream. It is quite possibly one of the most frustrating things Pippa has ever come across, like head-butting a wall of stone.

“I just would’ve thought you’d be better, that you’d changed.” She can’t help the emotion clogging her throat, because it’s the truth, she thought that Hecate might’ve missed her just as much, that she’d want to set things right with them, that she might care, even a little, after all this time.

“Neither of us has changed all that much,” Hecate says, so stern and forbidding, and Pippa stares into her dark eyes, looking for the barest glimpse of her young friend hiding inside, the girl who once laughed so hard she gave herself hiccups that couldn’t be stopped, couldn’t even be magicked away. Hecate blinks and slants her gaze away, tapping her fingers against her crossed arms, like she’s late for something, like she can’t be bothered.

“I’ve matured, Hecate. Beyond our childish squabbles.” Pippa wants to make her flinch, twitch, wants to see _something_ as the words land. Everything about Hecate makes her react strongly, stirs in her a cauldron of emotion that no one else seems to be able to touch. But then, it’s always been that way, Pippa thinks, always being pulled into her orbit, a satellite that’s never allowed to land. The surface might be inhospitable anyway. She wouldn’t know, she’s never been let close enough to see.

Pippa hears the bustle of noise, signalling the end of a class period, knows the hallway in which they’re standing is about to be overtaken by excitable girls and she’ll stand out, in her bright pink, her blonde hair. She sees Hecate’s hands move before she can say a thing, feels the blur of transference, the uneasy feeling of dissolving into the air.

“I’ve always hated when you do that,” she says when they re-materialize in Hecate’s quarters. She smooths her skirt, finds a certain peace in looking at her manicured nails moving down the pink fabric, a comforting gesture in its familiarity. She looks up and sees a smirk on Hecate’s face, finds she doesn’t even hate it completely, finds it almost attractive, finds that fact infuriating.

“I wasn’t about to let you belittle me in the halls of my school while students run about,” Hecate says, her face going blank once more.

“Oh, Hiccup,” Pippa says, reaching up, reaching out, before dropping her hand back, not quite touching the dark silk of Hecate’s blouse. Because she never meant to do that, make Hecate feel less than, not good enough, doesn’t ever want to do that, not even when she’s at her angriest. She thinks she sees Hecate blink quickly, like she’s blinking emotions away, but she turns her head so Pippa can’t quite see. Hecate doesn’t look back at Pippa, stares at a speck on the floor so hard that Pippa wonders if she isn’t trying to bore a hole through the stone with her eyes.

She feels deflated, unable to continue fighting, unable to care. She just wants to bridge this gap, to be what they were, once. She doesn’t know if they’ll ever be able to be something more, doesn’t know if that particular chasm can ever be crossed.

-

Hecate feels brittle, like she’s lived a thousand lives in the past hour. She’s fought with Pippa. Again. It feels endless, this fighting, worse than when they were children, because now they know the words that can really injure. This time it was about a potion. Before that, it was about student detentions. Before that, it was the value of astronomy versus astrology. It seems like any little thing is enough of a spark to light the tinder, and every time Pippa visits, she ends up fuming at Hecate, staring at her with anger in her eyes, her face flushing red, her fists clenched.

Hecate would be lying if she said she hadn’t thought about very different circumstances, with Pippa looking much the same but the anger in her eyes sharpened into desire.

She fights with Pippa because she misses her, because she wants to talk to her. She fights because it keeps Pippa around longer, because she doesn’t have to ask if she’s read the latest article in the British Magical Journal or if she’s had a good crop of milkweed this season, or any number of other inane topics just to keep Pippa at her side. She fights because it saves her from having to talk about anything else.

Hecate sits in her potions classroom, empty cauldrons around her, the quiet hum of the castle as the only sound. It was a silly spat, about ragwort and whether or not the purifying effects of the herb would impact the potion. Nothing that mattered, at all, though the look on Pippa’s face when she said, “You always have to be right, don’t you? Can’t budge an inch,” is still emblazoned in her mind, the anger mixed with sadness.

She doesn’t notice when Ada comes in, doesn’t even notice she’s sat beside her, only looks up when her gentle hand rests on Hecate’s knee. “Fighting again?” she asks in that soft, understanding voice, the one that makes Hecate calm, makes her feel like she can be honest.

“As we always are,” she answers. “Difficult to change old habits, though it seems a bit like she hates me now more than ever.” It’s a hard thing to swallow, this vitriol between them. Hecate might’ve thought that when they repaired their friendship, when they hugged after the spelling bee,

“There’s a thin line between love and hate, I’ve found,” Ada says quietly, her hand squeezing ever so slightly on Hecate’s leg. Hecate turns sharply, because Ada’s guessed the very thing hidden away in her heart, the very thing she’s avoided saying, thinking, feeling.

All she sees are Ada’s kind eyes behind her glasses, her serene acceptance of anything Hecate might tell her, anything that Hecate might be. Ada’s thumb moves back and forth for a few moments as they look at one another, and finally, Hecate slowly blinks, feels brave enough to let a smile creep across her face, small and almost imperceptible.

“There now,” Ada says, not afraid to beam broadly. “But you really must stop fighting in front of the students. There’s a bet going that you’re going to lead a student army to attack Pentangle’s at any moment. Best to quash that while we can.” She pats Hecate’s knee once, twice, then lurches to her feet, Hecate following, her hands as Ada’s shadow, phantom support in case it’s needed.

“As if Pippa’s school could take us in a fight,” Hecate scoffs, amusement in her eyes as she looks down at her friend.

“Too right.” There’s a proud sort of look on Ada’s face. “However, we should be promoting inter-school unity, Hecate.” The words are stern, but she says them with a smirk that makes Hecate’s chest go tight, as if there’s a second meaning in that.

-

Pippa wonders, a bit, if they’ll ever stop arguing. There’s nothing that won’t set one of them off, it seems, and yet she keeps visiting Cackle’s, keeps hoping that this time will be different, that this time, they’ll both be better. She thinks she can see it in Hecate’s eyes, once in a while, the same want for things to be not as they are, but neither of them seem to be able to stop. Sometimes there’s a hesitancy to Hecate’s words, a pause, like she wants to say something else instead, but then the fire flickers in her eyes, and sharp barbs escape from her lips.

She passes Ada on her way to Hecate’s quarters, a familiar route to her now, she rarely even comes up with excuses for why she’s made the trek across the country to stop by, and there’s a bit of a glimmer about Ada, a bit of a smirk playing on her lips, and Pippa wrinkles her nose, tries to work out what might be the cause of it.

“Please tell Hecate that she’s expected at the evening herb gathering. We wouldn’t want to miss out on her expertise.” Pippa thinks that’s true, she’s never met a witch with the same acumen for knowing just the right plants to gather, when they’re at the perfect moment for plucking. “You’re more than welcome to join in on things, Miss Pentangle, if you don’t end up leaving in a huff again.” There’s that smirkiness again, that sense of something afoot, just beyond Pippa’s ken.

“I’m sure that would be lovely, I’d be happy to,” is all she says, though thinks that it’ll be something of a miracle if she and Hecate don’t find some way to get at each other’s throats in the next fifteen minutes. She moves past Ada, their pink-clad elbows brushing as she goes, and she feels a whisper of magic along her spine, but when she turns to look behind her, there’s no evidence that a spell was cast.

She gets to Hecate’s rooms, knocks on the door, a familiar routine, and it opens for her, Hecate on the other side. As she shuts the door behind them, her hand on the handle, she feels that same whisper of magic thrum through her arm, but sees nothing, hears nothing, so thinks nothing of it.

“Well met, Miss Hardbroom,” she says, as she always does, oddly stilted, oddly formal, but that’s what they are, in the times in between their fights.

“Miss Pentangle,” Hecate returns, an odd little bow completing the greeting.

She can see a sheaf of grading on Hecate’s desk, red ink scratched across the pages, stops herself from criticizing her stringent grading policies, from suggesting that a gentler approach might be the way to success. They’ve had too many disagreements on pedagogical grounds and she isn’t anxious to have another one.

“You’re busy,” she says instead, gesturing at the papers in answer to Hecate’s raised eyebrow.

“I’m deputy headmistress. It’s hardly a cushy position where one can simply recline with their feet up and flit around to visit other schools at a moments notice,” she says in return, her tone sardonic and it makes Pippa’s hackles rise.

She takes a breath, steadies herself. “If you’ve a complaint about how often I visit, Hecate, just say it straight out.”

Hecate says nothing, and that’s almost worse. They stand, in awkward silence, Pippa trying to avoid fighting again, Hecate a silent, looming presence, unwilling to budge. It’s an oppressive quiet, and it feels smothering.

“Perhaps it’s best if I leave,” Pippa says finally, feels like she can’t escape quickly enough. She goes to the door, turns the handle, and nothing happens. She can’t hear the clicking of the lock, can’t hear any sort of noise at all, like the door’s just stopped working. “I can’t open it,” she says, a little plaintively. Hecate brushes past her, a brusqueness in her movements that doesn’t help to soothe any hurt feelings, and leaves Pippa feeling all the more out of sorts.

-

“We’re locked in here,” Hecate says, echoing Pippa’s sentiments, trying the handle of the door again, to no avail. She throws a spell at the wood, but it just bounces off, sparks of magic falling to the stone floor.

“Well-spotted,” Pippa says acidly, and the tone never fails to make Hecate feel surprised, sorrowful. She always thinks of Pippa as warmth and light and friendship, and it’s disheartening, upsetting, that their interactions make her anything but.

Hecate holds her hands up, in surrender, in defeat, she doesn’t know, but she just doesn’t want _this_ anymore. Pippa sighs, casts about for a place to sit, chooses the chair in front of Hecate’s formidable desk, leaving the large chair behind it as the most reasonable option. There’s something about the distance between them, that she’d feel like she was scolding a student, that stops Hecate from sitting there. Instead, she leans against the edge of the desk, rests her hands right on the corner, taps her nails against the wood.

“Well?” she asks, because she doesn’t know what else to say.

“Well what?” Pippa asks. “This is hardly how I’d planned to spend my afternoon. Spells don’t work, transference is blocked, and I’ve left my axe in my other cloak.” Hecate can’t resist a small smile at that, the thought of this very pink witch wielding a weapon at her door, trying to free them from this ridiculous entrapment.

“How did you plan to spend it, then?” Hecate asks, because she is curious, wonders why Pippa keeps coming, why Pippa won’t stay away, even after all the nasty words and the spiteful arguments.

“I came to see you, of course, what do you think?” Pippa says, not quite meeting Hecate’s eyes, flicking an invisible piece of lint from her skirt. Hecate watches her nails, sharp and pink, but not as fear-inducing as her own black ones, though she knows there’s talons hidden there.

“Yes, as you do most every week. And we argue. Was arguing what you’d planned for today?” If she keeps asking questions, she won’t have to answer any, and eventually the enchantment will wear off and they’ll be freed.

“I think it would’ve have happened whether I’d planned for it or not,” Pippa says, and she sounds weary with it all. There’s the faint sound of a mirror call, and Hecate has to turn away, just sees Pippa bow her head, a lock of blonde hair falling in front of her face.

It’s Ada, asking where she is. “We’re trapped, Ada,” Hecate says, and thinks there’s a bit of a smirk to Ada’s face, that she quickly covers with a shocked noise that sounds only partially forced. “If you wouldn’t mind working out a spell to open my door, it would be appreciated.” She can’t help the annoyance creeping into her voice, can’t help but wish she was somewhere else, rather than trapped in this room with a woman who wants nothing more than to be far away from her.

“They’ll work on it,” she mutters as she returns to the edge of her desk, Pippa unmoved from her seat in the chair.

“She doesn’t want you to miss the herb gathering,” she says, softly, and Hecate bends ever so slightly, to catch the words. “It would be a shame to miss an opportunity when the next one’s a month away.” She wants to reach out, to tilt Pippa’s chin up, to make their eyes meet, but instead she clenches her hands around the wooden edge, forces herself to keep her fingers away from Pippa’s face.

“Mmm,” Hecate agrees, doesn’t quite have any words in her at this moment, just keeps looking at the straight part of Pippa’s hair, the golden swaths on either side, how it seems to catch the light even in her dim rooms.

Pippa says something quietly, so quietly that Hecate doesn’t hear it and has to ask for it to be said again. Pippa lifts her head, her eyes clear, and she looks straight at Hecate, straight into her. “I come every week to see you,” she says, and there’s no mistaking her words. “I’d rather fight with you than not see you at all.”

-

Pippa can see that Hecate doesn’t know how to respond, can see the confusion ripple across her face, the face that so often hides all emotion, the face that is an implacable wall most days. “Hiccup,” she says softly, and then, because she can’t stop herself any longer, reaches out to touch Hecate’s forefinger with her own, a gentle brush. And Hecate doesn’t flinch away.

“I missed you for so many years,” she says, and watches the play of emotions, the regret, the sadness, the vulnerability, all of it wrapped up in Hecate’s firm mouth and her dark eyes. “When we...after the spelling bee, I thought I’d be getting my best friend back, as if no time had passed.” She slides her hand more firmly against Hecate’s, their palms touching, Hecate’s cold and smooth, any calluses witched away by magic.

“Time did pass,” Hecate says, a bit of wonder threaded through her voice and she looks down at their joined hands like it’s a miracle.

“Yes,” Pippa agrees. “And perhaps, perhaps it’s time to admit it wasn’t friendship we wanted, after all?” She uses all her willpower not to look away from Hecate’s startled look, her eyes wide, her mouth open a little. She can feel Hecate about to retract her hand, just holds on tight. “I mean not _just_ friendship.”

The surprise doesn’t leave Hecate’s face, but her hand stays in Pippa’s, and she doesn’t move away, not even as Pippa stands so they’re almost nose to nose. Pippa looks deep into Hecate’s eyes, so dark, endlessly mysterious, and all she can see is herself, reflected back in them. She takes a breath and does the thing she’s thought about since she was thirteen, the smallest girl in their year, something she would’ve had to stand on tiptoes to do then, something she can do easily in her low heeled boots now, and presses her lips to Hecate’s.

She makes a small noise, one Pippa might categorize as a squeak if she ever thought Hecate would make such an undignified sound, but doesn’t pull away. Her lips are chapped, cold, just like her hands, but _Hecate_ is warm, her body close to Pippa’s, and she can almost feel how it radiates with energy, with worry, and, she thinks, with want.

She slides her tongue against the seam of Hecate’s mouth, and is granted entrance almost immediately. Her arms go around her back, one sliding in her hair, grasping right into the strands pulled tight up into her bun. Hecate’s hands are hesitant, and Pippa can feel them hovering about her waist, but Pippa can tell the moment when she decides that this is all right, that this is something she can do. Her whole body relaxes, just slightly, the merest suggestion of slackness in her frame, and her fingers come to rest on her hips, holding her firmly, with surety.

They kiss and they kiss, and Pippa thinks this is much better than arguing, thinks it’s a bit more productive too. Then Hecate surprises her, moves from her mouth, kisses her jaw, her neck, nuzzles into the space behind her ear, and Pippa gasps at the sensation, at the revelation of Hecate, of Hecate doing _this_. “Darling,” she whispers, “I’ve been waiting for this.”

Hecate stiffens ever so slightly, and Pippa thinks perhaps she’s chastising herself, that she thinks she’s done something wrong. She uses her hands to frame Hecate’s face, to hold her so their eyes meet, so they have to look at each other. “I’ve been looking forward to this,” she says.

Hecate closes her eyes, takes a breath that fills her whole body, then opens her eyes, her dark lashes fluttering slightly. Her mouth is red, well-kissed, her cheeks flushed, and Pippa just thinks, _how_ _beautiful_. “As have I,” she says curtly, like it hurts to admit it, like it’s hard for her, and Pippa thinks perhaps it is.

She doesn’t know what to say, can’t help the merry smile that breaks across her face, because to hear Hecate say that means more to her than she knew. She pulls Hecate’s mouth to her own once more, clings to her, kisses her wetly, happily, warmly, finds the joy in feeling possessed by Hecate’s arms, in being held so close and so carefully. She thinks, in time, they’ll find wild abandon and mindless passion, but for now she will take this, this purposeful exploration, this tentative, yet determined adoration.

There’s a cough behind them, and Hecate practically trips over herself stepping away from Pippa, her hands once more at her sides, clenched into fists, her face a bright red, her hair mussed, some curls fallen from her bun, and Pippa just thinks how she can’t wait to see that same hair strewn across her pillow. She turns slowly to see Ada Cackle in the doorway, that same smirky smile on her face, like she knows something, like she planned something.

“Well met, Miss Cackle,” she says, with as much dignity as she can muster, bowing slightly, and she can feel the nervous energy that is Hecate Hardbroom vibrating behind her.

Ada mimics her gesture. “We finally got the door open,” she says needlessly. “Funny little spell, but it’s of no matter now.”

“Who put it there?” Hecate asks in a foreboding tone, though she looks anything but intimidating in her current state. Pippa shudders slightly to think of that voice in bed with her, feels a tingle down her spine again, knows it’s nothing to do with magic this time. Ada simply shrugs, tells them it doesn’t matter, that it might just be a trick of the castle, an old building with a mind of its own.

Pippa declines herb collecting that evening, thinks she won’t be able to keep her hands to herself, now that she knows what it’s like to kiss Hecate, thinks that it’s best for her to transfer away before she can cause any undue embarrassment. She presses a kiss to Hecate’s cheek in parting, and a promise to see her soon.

-

Soon, as it turns out, means the weekend, when Hecate transfers into the foyer of Miss Pentangle’s Academy for Witches. Pippa rushes to greet her, does the traditional bow but calls her “Hiccup” because she’s so giddy to see her. “What are you _doing_ here?” she asks, before regretting the words, thinking it might’ve come out more accusatory than she meant.

Hecate fidgets a bit, awkward and off-kilter, as if she’s unsure of herself, thinks she might’ve done something wrong. “You said I should see your castle.”

She kisses her right there in the front hall and thinks that Hecate blushes the prettiest pink.


End file.
